


Think On It

by sallyamongpoison



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Cullen protects his own, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot With Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7574938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cullen is in a relationship with Samson, against the Inquisitor's wishes, and fights to keep something good for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Think On It

“When I put him into your care, I didn’t think I’d be sending a  _ war criminal _ into your bed, Cullen. Maker’s sake, man, what are you thinking?”

“I...don’t know what you’re talking about, Inquis-”

“Don’t...don’t lie to me, Cullen, alright? Everyone knows everyone’s business around here, you know that.”

“And how do you know that whatever ‘business’ of mine that’s out there isn’t some rumor?”

“Because I don’t think The Iron Bull would lie to me about what he saw in the tavern. Something about a pitcher of ale together? Hands... _ holding _ hands where everyone could see it? Am I jogging any memory here, or do I need to ask Bull to come in and tell you himself?”

“No. Ser, you don’t.”

“Look, Cullen...I  _ know _ you knew him. I know there’s all kinds of complicated feelings there. It was all over your face when we brought him back and at Judgement and everything. I know. But whatever you’re doing? This...this  _ thing _ with Samson? It’s dangerous, and I don’t want you to put yourself in a bad situation. Long history or not, what’s to stop him from putting a knife in your neck in the middle of the night because you got too comfortable? I can’t afford to lose you. Just  _ think _ . Think about what’s important here.”

“Was that all, Inquisitor?”

“Yes. Go handle this, would you? Whatever you have to do.”

“Of course.”

\----

Cullen kicked the door to his office shut behind him with a grunt. He looked up, saw the two or three scouts and his assistant at his desk gesturing to a few rolled parchments and a map that was laid out, and set his jaw. “Out,” he growled, “ _ now _ .”

They blinked, looked at each other for a moment, then saluted before they scuttled out the other door. Cullen watched them go, eyes narrowed, and wiped a hand over his face before he pulled off his gloves and sword belt. He felt far too claustrophobic under all the armor and everything for moment. It all felt far too close. All of it was too close. 

When he was out of his armor, in the quiet of his empty office, Cullen rounded the corner of his desk and dropped himself in the chair that had been pushed back and away from where the others had been standing. One foot went up to rest against the edge of his desk, and Cullen just stared out at...well, nothing in particular. His gaze was fixed on the door in front of him, but he wasn’t looking at it. He was looking back, looking back at that conversation in the War Room, and losing himself a little in that.

_ Think about what’s important here. _

He would. He’d been thinking about it for months, it had been basically what consumed what part of him hadn’t been taken by the lyrium withdrawals. It seemed like the only thing he thought about was what was  _ important _ : important for the Inquisition, important for Thedas, important to keep people alive, but he hadn’t really been concerned with what had been  _ important  _ for him. That, for all of them, had been put on hold. Until Corypheus was defeated and they had the possibility for a life after all of this, what was important to  _ them _ , to all of them, wasn’t important. 

Cullen just sat and stared for a long time. His mind wandered, and after a while he was hardly thinking about that conversation earlier. Of course he was still  _ angry _ , but his mind wasn’t on that anymore. He saw the past: Samson up on that mountain when Corypheus attacked Haven, a beggar man on the streets of Darktown asking for money or Dust, and then finally a man beside him in the same robes he wore. A friend. That same  _ friend _ was the man who shared his bed. Ironic, really, that the person Cullen wanted most was someone that went so against everything the Inquisition stood for.

“Something on the door terribly interesting?” asked a voice over the creaking of one of the other doors.

He shook his head, which snapped him out of a good bit of that sitting and staring, and looked down at his desk. It was covered in paper, but even he couldn’t fake that he’d been sitting there working for however long he’d been sitting there. “Just thinking,” Cullen answered.

“About?” Samson asked once the door was closed. He made he way over to the desk and dropped himself in one of the spare chairs that had been brought in so Cullen could receive...guests, or whatever it was. Josephine and Madame Vivienne had been the ones to rather forcefully suggest it, so chairs he now had.

“Nothing.”

“Really, Rutherford?” Samson asked with a cocked eyebrow, “you’re going to try to lie to me?”

Cullen sighed and leaned back in his chair. One elbow sat on the armrest and he pressed the knuckle of his first finger against his bottom lip. Mostly he was just trying to wrap his head around, well, everything. Around all the thoughts and that conversation and just what he planned to actually  _ do _ in all this. If anything. He  _ should _ , of course he should, but what was there to do that wouldn’t ruin one of the only decent things he had in his life at the moment?

“Is it a headache again?” was the next question. Samson’s tone was softer, more concerned, and he studied Cullen’s face more seriously. There was none of that bravado or teasing that he usually reserved for Cullen. It was just worry, plain and simple worry.

“No,” Cullen answered, and managed a small smile for how those five words in that concerned kind of voice made him feel at least a little cared for. He didn’t like to be coddled or fussed over, but he did like it when Samson turned off the humor for a few minutes here and there when it was serious. “Trevelyan wanted to talk to me today,” he explained, “and not just about battle plans.”

Both of Samson’s eyebrows rose for that, and he leaned forward a bit in the chair, “I can only imagine what’s got the Lord Inquisitor’s knickers in a knot,” he commented, “anything good?”

Cullen lifted his gaze to meet Samson’s and for a long moment amber eyes stayed locked on those darker ones. His face was almost like stone in how little it moved, but as they watched each other in the low light it was almost like Cullen knew Samson could understand him. This many years on, in whatever fashion they were in, and they very rarely needed words. Or, at least, they didn’t need  _ many _ words. “He doesn’t like me sharing my bed with a war criminal,” Cullen went on, “and that I should worry about you trying to put a knife in my back because I’ve gotten comfortable.”

A pause. Samson kept his gaze on Cullen face for a long moment before he wiped a hand over his eyes and laughed, “That all?”

“That’s not enough for you?”

Samson let out a sigh and hauled himself to his feet. His joints complained: cracked and creaked, and he rested both hands on his hips to stretch out his back a bit before he headed over to Cullen’s desk. He took a seat on the same side Cullen sat on, though he hopped up a bit on a corner so he was eye level with the Commander. Being that far away in the chair wasn’t good for this. They needed to be closer. Closer was better, more often than not.

“When all this started and we were getting reports in about this Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste and all that nonsense, right?” Samson began, “I heard that if Trevelyan hadn’t closed the Breach or...whatever he did, if he hadn’t they would have strung all of you up by your necks in Val Royeaux: him, Seeker Pentaghast, that Leliana woman, you, Ambassador Montilyet, and probably as many others as they could have rounded up. For going against the  _ Chantry _ was the official word. Treason, though, in some fashion or another.”

Cullen nodded, “I had a feeling that might have been the case. One of the Chancellors we had in Haven was pretty quick to tell us  _ all _ about it.”

A grunt in agreement then, and Samson reached out a hand to brush through Cullen’s hair, “I’m as much a zealot for Corypheus as Trevelyan is for Andraste. That is to say...I followed him. I followed him because he wanted to unmake the world and I wanted to be on the right end of it when it was over. All that shit about making Tevinter great again? What the fuck do I care about that? I just wanted to live through it.”

“That and you’re a terrible war criminal,” Cullen deadpanned, “leaving all those letters for us to find you.”

“Oh, like you don’t know that was on purpose. He starts killing Grey Wardens and binding demons to them? I wasn’t trained to handle that. Let you lot find me, right? I’ll take my chances with a headman’s axe before I have a demon latched to me.”

“And now the Inquisitor thinks this is a distraction.”

“No more a distraction than him sneaking off with Pentaghast to read poetry and fuck down by the pond,” Samson pointed out, “it’s not like you’ve put me ahead of your job. Maker help me if you ever did.”

“So what do we do, then?” Cullen asked, “even going to the tavern for a drink is apparently offensive. Should we just stay in here and pretend like it’s not strange to never go out anywhere together?”

“Fuck them,” Samson laughed and leaned down to kiss Cullen’s lips, “you’re allowed to have a good time too. Just because it’s not with some green recruit or a stable boy doesn’t make it any different to who’s tumbling anyone else.”

“It’s more than that.”

“Is it?” Samson asked as he trailed one long finger along Cullen’s jaw, “more than them wondering if you’re the one fucking the ‘war criminal’ or something?”

“More as in I don’t care. For the first time. I don’t.”

“You do,” Samson laughed as he pushed off the desk and reached down to haul Cullen to his feet, “you always care. Way too much. And always for things you’re not  _ supposed _ to. Not that I mind, but...you do care.”

Cullen’s face softened a little, and then arms were around each other as warm lips met. It was a long kind of kiss, one that was exploratory and ended with them both breathing a bit hard. When it ended they stood with their foreheads resting against one another’s, and they just took in the feeling of breathing together. Their chests moved almost in unison, and it was another moment before they were kissing again and moving backward toward the ladder that would lead them up to Cullen’s, now mostly  _ their _ shared, space. 

Upstairs, clothes came off fast and without care. Their Templar training was long forgotten, which usually ended with things folded in neat piles, and now the piles of tunics and pants and socks and smalls showed their journey from the ladder to the bed. Already Cullen had red lines from Samson’s nails scratched down his chest to his stomach, and when they finally tumbled onto the mattress there was a matching love bite on his neck. It made him groan, shift his hips so his growing erection rubbed against the other man’s, and he was panting and groaning from the mix of pain and pleasure that Samson tended to bring to their bed.

Then Samson’s mouth was on his cock, hot and wet and  _ perfect _ , and Cullen groaned as one hand grabbed for the dark hair that fell across his lap. Nothing was better than Samson sucking him, he was convinced, and it seemed the more they learned each other the better it got. Not that it had ever been  _ bad _ , but Samson knew all the buttons push now: how to swirl his tongue just so, the right amount of pressure from his lips, and even just the hint of teeth here and there that made Cullen buck his hips to try to push his cock further down the man’s throat.

Maker, he was so hard. Samson knew him entirely too well, and it was only moments before he was hard and aching in his lover’s mouth. He wanted to come. He wanted Samson to suck him until he came, until everyone on the ramparts could hear him, and he wanted it more than he wanted anything. At this point, especially after that talk, he didn’t care who heard. 

“Raleigh,” Cullen groaned as he canted his hips up again, “ _ Maker _ .”

Another swirl of that fiendish tongue, and Samson pulled off of him, “Something you want?”

“You.”

“So say it.”

Both of Cullen’s hands moved to cup Samson’s face, and he pulled him up for another deep kiss. He felt it all the way through him, through his blood, and when they parted Cullen smiled. It was just a breath, just long enough for them to smile at each other, and Samson kissed him again before Cullen tangled his fingers in Samson’s hair again. This was good. It was so good. 

He breathed them in, took in how it felt to have Samson stretched out over the top of him, and Cullen nuzzled his face in against the other man’s cheek, “Fuck me,” he murmured.

That made Samson chuckle, and he turned to nose at Cullen’s hair, “then roll over.”

They rocked together, Samson at Cullen’s back with Cullen’s arm reached back so he could tangle his fingers in Samson’s hair, slow and steady. Sometimes their nights together were fast and rough, others were long and slow and languid until they were both sweating and shaking, but no matter how they did it...it was always good. Cullen loved the feeling of being so  _ full _ and so  _ taken _ to the point that there were days that he walked with a bit of a limp afterward. He loved feeling like Samson was still inside him for hours after, and he loved the way the other man would mutter and curse in his ear.

“You want to be  _ distracted _ tomorrow, do you?” Samson growled in his ear, and Cullen gulped as he pulled a bit at Samson’s hair.

“Distracted, how-  _ ah, _ Maker’s breath, just like that,” Cullen answered as he bucked his hips backward so Samson’s hips slammed into his just that little bit harder.

“Fucked so hard you can’t walk?”

“Like that’s so different to any other time.”

And, of course. Samson took that as a challenge. The man was incorrigible, really, and when he was presented with the opportunity to send a message...he took it. It was how Cullen ended up on his knees, head and shoulders shoved down into the mattress with a rough hand, and Samson slamming his cock into him  _ hard. _ It should have hurt. It should have been uncomfortable. The lewd, wet sounds of skin hitting skin should have worried him that someone would hear it. Cullen’s unashamed moans filling the room should have made him worry that someone would hear him. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not now. Not when this was  _ perfection _ .

He came hard, and without a hand on him, as the assault on his prostate made him see stars. All those buttons Samson knew how to push were going to be his end one day, he had a feeling, and Cullen wouldn’t trade it for anything. His arse ached for the rough treatment too, and he yelped a bit when he felt a hand come down and slap him  _ hard _ . 

“Raleigh!” Cullen gasped, and gripped hard at the sheets.

They slept curled together, as they did every night, with Samson nuzzled in against Cullen’s chest. With them both under the covers it was warm. They needed that. They  _ deserved _ that. In Cullen’s heart of hearts, he knew they  _ deserved _ each other. They fit together far too well, and he’d do whatever he could to keep this.

\----

“I  _ told _ you to handle it, Commander,” Trevelyan’s voice was sharp, and Cullen folded his arms as he settled his weight.

“No, you told me to  _ think _ about it. I thought about it, and I think I’m entitled to just as much happiness as anyone else.”

“You can  _ find _ happiness,” Trevelyan argued, “answer some of those letters from the Winter Palace! We’re still getting piles of requests from some lovely girls that would love you better that that... _ thing! _ ”

“That’s enough!” Cullen shouted.

“I can’t leave him in your care if you’re going to make these decisions, Cullen. I just can’t. He’ll be brought down to the Undercroft, and Dagna can do as she likes with him, but I’m  _ not _ going to let Raleigh  _ fucking _ Samson ruin you!”

Cullen set his jaw, took two steps up close so he was just a hand span away from the Inquisitor. All drawn up, standing straight, and Cullen was just a hair taller than he was. He was strong from so many years in the Order and training with his recruits. Anyone who knew him knew that Cullen Rutherford was  _ not _ a man to be trifled with. It showed in his eyes that were now devoid of the warmth they usually held. This was not a matter he would budge on, Maker help him and  _ anyone _ who tried.

“If anyone lays a hand on him, I’ll consider it a personal affront, Inquisitor,” Cullen stated evenly, “I do my job. I’ve done  _ everything _ you’ve ever asked me to do and more. I’ve given myself, body and  _ soul _ , to the Inquisition. You. Will. NOT. Touch him. Do  _ you _ understand?”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Cullen.”

“No,” he answered with a shake of his head, “it’s not. You’d do well to remember that.”

“It’s  _ my _ decision,” Trevelyan said.

“No, it’s really not.”

\----

That night, after Cullen had found Samson trying to fight off two of the guards that had come to the office to take him down to the Undercroft, they walked into the Herald’s Rest. Everyone was there, and everyone turned to watch the Commander and the War Criminal standing together. They walked with their chins held high, and when they sat down with a pitcher of ale between them, Cullen reached out and tangled his hand with Samson’s.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” Samson murmured, and cast a glance around to the eyes that were watching them, “you made your point.”

Cullen shook his head and leaned over, “I haven’t even  _ begun _ to make my point yet,” he breathed, and kissed him. It was a sound and rather perfect kind of kiss. Around them, the room erupted into murmurs and some even whooped and clapped.

Maker help him, but Cullen would  _ never _ let anyone take this from him. Not now, not ever. 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an eventual collaboration with @oldstupidtemplar over on tumblr. Go check out the wonderful art, you won't regret it!
> 
> And you can always find me @sallyamongpoison!


End file.
